


Ease My Mind

by GrapefruitMoon



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Jaskier's Passive Aggressive Songs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapefruitMoon/pseuds/GrapefruitMoon
Summary: Geralt cuts Jaskier loose but can't seem to stop worrying about him.More tales of our favorite Witcher grappling with emotions! Sarcastic Roach and Jaskier's heartfelt breakup jams also feature.'Jaskier had managed to get himself nearly killed again for the fifth time in as many days and Geralt had been unable to contain the prickling, aching sensation which rose up from the pit of his stomach and choked him every time the fool fell into harms way.'Will be updated regularly.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 208





	Ease My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song of the same name by Ben Platt  
> & likewise for chapter titles. Check them out!

It began after another one of their rows which, like all of their disagreements, was really just Geralt vehemently decrying their friendship and Jaskier looking dejected and deceptively harmless. Jaskier had managed to get himself nearly killed again for the fifth time in as many days and Geralt had been unable to contain the prickling, aching sensation which rose up from the pit of his stomach and choked him every time the fool fell into harms way. Not that Geralt had been able to articulate as much. What he had infact said was "Fuck off to the end of the world and then fuck of a bit further Jaskier, you stupid son of a bitch". 

Jaskier had promptly fucked off to the nearest village. Which served Geralt's purpose quite well, the bard's fragile feelings nonwithstanding. 'A huffy halfwit far away is safer than an adoring one riding at your side' or so the saying didn't go, but Geralt imagined a few sayings would go that way if the people who created sayings had ever had to spend time in Jaskier's infuriating, worrisome company. 

The Witcher had ridden on to face monsters and monstrous men, knowing that he should be content and grateful for his solitude.   
That really should have been the end of that.   
Except, well.   
Except who could say if the removal of Geralt from the bard's life really had removed all danger. The dolt did seem to have a death wish after all. So Geralt listened a little more closely to the singing at the inns and camps he travelled through; kept his ears altert and attuned to more courtly gossip that he'd previously tolerated and, on one regrettable occasion, seized on the opportunity to ask a confused master tailor if he'd had any particularly annoying clients of late. All customers, it transpired, were annoying. 

Every so often lines from a new ballad would crop up on the lips of some enthusiastic drunk or bored washerwoman and root Geralt to the spot with their distinctive style. Jaskier, Geralt was able to divine, had taken to writing about a ridiculous character named Gregan the Oaf. The tales of Gregan's 'blundering mishaps' and 'epic romantic failures' had proved to be great hits across the land. Even Geralt sometimes caught himself humming the swooping refrain of the verse about about Gregan's permanently constipated facial expression and terrible dress sense.

One evening, approximately a year to the day that Geralt and Jaskier had parted ways, Geralt was bathing in a cold stream and attempting to remove dried Bruxa blood from his body using a small clump of moss. He was as off-guard as a Witcher could be when his inhuman hearing tuned in to some children, playing a safe distance away on a sloping bank.   
"..travelling minstrel my ma said, and the crone captured him and tied him up in her tower. We think she's been disappearing our pigs and all."  
Geralt dropped the moss.

It wasn't long before he was in the closest settlement, a tiny hamlet which was no more than two dozen houses packed snugly together. He left Roach with a quivering, unfortunate boy named Spuklet who had agreed to source some oats for her. "I'll be back soon girl." She snorted at him softly and swung her long neck away from his outreached hand. Judgemental mare. 

Geralt strode into the area's sole alehouse. As expected there was a smattering of locals already gathered together to drown the days sorrows.   
"I believe you need a Witcher" Geralt declared to the silent room as ten pairs of eyes swivelled towards him. 

A rotund, sweaty man who looked drunker than the others stood up suddenly "Say isn't that Gregan the O- oh no, my apologies sir"  
The drunkard dropped back down into his chair, seemingly knocked down by the sheer force of Geralt's unhappy glare. 

The locals were not, as it turned out, much in need of a Witcher. They cared very little for the fate of a bard they'd met but once, a fortnight ago, before he'd been apparently captured by the local crone and carted off to her crumbling hovel atop a hill nobody ever went near. They did however concede to pay a few coins upon the return of some of their pigs. 

"Fare thee well, Sir Gregan" Spuklet called from Roach's side as Geralt trudged past the pair towards the Crone's hill. Geralt scowled at the mare's delighted whiny.

The hill, upon which the crone was said to reside, had no path up so the Witcher was forced to hack through thick brambles and branches on his ascent. Whilst he worked he tried to squash the uneasy feeling rising in his gut. He cursed Jaskier loudly as he slashed at the tough foliage. He'd known the bard would end up getting into some sort of trouble eventually, even without a Witcher in his life. No self preservation, that's what it was. It was enought to drive a man crazy though, of course, Geralt was no man. 

Geralt reached the top of the hill just in time to see the final rays of sun painting the surrounding area in rich golden tones. Jaskier would want to know that, he thought, for the epic ballad of the rescue. He cast his eyes around the landscape beneath him and tried to commit it to memory just in case. Of course, he'd never been able to describe these things in the way Jaskier could but that was what the bard was exceptional at. He'd take the simple words you told him and he'd reform them and gild them into some great romantic verse. This Gregan character was a lucky man indeed, Geralt thought, despite the oaf's well sung-of affliction of having a brain one eighth the size of a normal man's. 

Eventually, after much vindictive hacking, Geralt broke through the final binds of the undergrowth and out into a very neatly kept lawn. "Uhm" the Witcher grunted. In the middle of the large and suspiciously tidy garden sat a small stone cottage. It had flowers planted along the ridge of the thatched roof and bright, sky-blue window frames. Geralt had never come across such brightly painted window frames before and he found he did not enjoy them. He strode over to the rich oak door with a purposeful intent that was only partly affected. He cursed jaskier again, silently.

Before Geralt reached to door it swung open towards him, revealing a stout middle-aged woman. She had a mass of orange hair, shot through with grey and tangled up around her head in a way that put Geralt in mind of a small storm cloud getting ready to deluge. "Hmm" he said. The crone peered up at him and smiled deeply, the corners of her mouth folding like cloth. Her pale blue eyes sparkled in a way Geralt thought was most unbefitting of an evil crone. "Wrong hovel" Geralt grunted and turned to leave. He sensed her little hand shooting out to grab his forearm but he allowed it anyway. "I don't doubt that, my sweet. Here look back at me." 

Geralt held back the reply that he was not-at-all-sweet and allowed himself to be manouvered back around by the small crone. "There now, this won't hurt" she cooed at him. As he met her eyes he felt an odd tugging sensation at the back of his mind. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling as feelings went and he found himself not wanting to look away. Fragments of memories began to come to him, steeped in sepia. His mother's distant smile; the boys lining up to become mutants; Renfri's delicate hands reaching out to him; Jaskier singing to him; Jaskier running after him; Jaskier screaming at one of their many monsters. With no small amount of effort Geralt forced himself to look away from the old woman. "Enough." he said shortly. 

"That's a strong mind you have Witcher. Even I can only see your surface thoughts." The crone regarded him thoughtfully and then smiled again with what looked alarmingly like sympathy. "Come in dear and look for what you seek".  
Geralt scowled at her bobbing hair as she retreated back into the cottage but he did as he was told and followed her inside. He felt no ill will from her.

The crone led him to a wide kitchen, the walls stacked with every kind of cooking pot and many strange instruments, some of which geralt recognised as mage's tools. Sitting at the table was a tall, reedy man who was plucking idly at some sort of compact harp. He smiled at Geralt politely. "This" said the woman, looking at Geralt rather indulgently "is my nephew, Tomas". She winked at Geralt and then said "Tomas, this is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, here to rescue you from my clutches." 

Tomas' eyes lit up at the mention of Geralt's name. "Is it really you? Of course it is, look at you. Boy oh boy! Yours are my favorite songs to sing".  
Tomas glanced at Geralt's sword, stowed on his back, and shook his head slightly. "I'd rather not be rescued from Auntie Borrel, though. If it's all the same to you". 

Geralt squinted at Tomas whilst Borrel giggled at him with glee. "I do suspect, nephew mine, that the handsome Witcher hoped you'd be a different bard in mortal peril". Tomas' eyes widened still further with realisation and Geralt realised the other bard had probably heard of Jaskier, maybe even met him infact. 

Witchers cannot blush. Geralt was wholey convinced that it was not a physical possibility for him to do so and yet the room felt quite warm all of a sudden and his palms itched slightly. 

Tomas rose from his seat and coughed. "I did always wonder, you know, some of those verses.." he trailed off and shrugged. "I'm going to go and talk to the pigs". The young man hasted towards to end of the room and let himself out of a small door. Before the door swung closed behind him, Geralt caught sight of several pigs roaming around in a large pen behind the property. Confusingly, they all appeared to be wearing floral bonnets. 

"Well Witcher" Borrel strode over to a far corner of her vast kitchen and began inspecting vials. "Suppose you had found your bard, what would you have done then hmm?"   
"Saved him" Geralt said sulkily, though he knew it was not the answer she sought.   
"Oh yes" she said,nodding slowly as her hands danced over the vials, examining each in turn. "Very sensible. Do you know what I saw inside your head Witcher?" 

Geralt did not deign to reply.

"I saw a boy who lost his parents; a man who lost his comrades. Abandonment issues. I'm very interested in the magic of the brain you know."   
"Perhaps" Geralt ground out "it would aid your studies further to look inside Gregan the Oaf's mind. It's o-"  
"Only one eighth the size of a normal man's and I daresay one tenth the size of a woman's" Borrel nodded. "Oh my dear, you're not half as dense as you try to be are you?" 

Geralt sighed with his whole body. Mages were up there with bards as being far too much trouble. 

"You worry about him all the time" it wasn't a question. "I can help with that if you like, Witcher" she stood up holding a small vial of sparkling gold liquid. "You felt my intentions when I looked inside in your head. You know I only wish you well".   
"I am.. tired" he allowed himself to say, as if that went any way towards evoking the relentless barrrage of concern that refused to let him settle; that had led him here on this fool's errand. 

He reached for the vial without complaint as the mage approached him and swallowed it down in one gulp. The kitchen around him began to grey and fade. "Fuck" Geralt muttered as he was sent reeling into darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> Geralt trying to cope with hearing Jaskier's thoughts!  
> Jaskier trying to cope with pining after the world's neediest loner!  
> More thrilling tales of Gregan the Oaf!
> 
> Please comment. Feedback on my grammar particularly useful but all feedback adored of course.


End file.
